Bronzed Booties
They bronzed my baby booties, but My brother stole the bronze, Back in the middle ’80s when I lusted for the Fonz. I didn’t give my booties thought. For bronze, I had no care, Since I was into brassy guys, A geek with copper hair. I held my trysts in sundry spots, But never in my room. I was too young to dance in bars, Or cruise in a saloon. My go-to secret bower was A tool shed down the lane. One night I thought, It’s just a phase; Someday I’ll find that dame, Who’ll save me from myself, and then I’ll take her as my wife; And together we’ll elope And live a Betty Crocker life. We’ll buy each other ‘friendship’ shoes, And dip those things in bronze. We’ll cuddle up in silly boats Designed to look like swans. We’ll get kicked out of fabric stores For mucking up an aisle With bolts of patterned cloth unwound Of houndstooth and argyle. And when we’re old they’ll hate us in That 55+ home, ’Cause we’ll beat them all at Bingo In our wheelchairs (plated chrome). And so I mused, as “Jed” snuck in The shed at half past eight. “I like your bolo tie,” he said. “Aww, thanks. How come you’re late?”
Ahh, the confusion of childhood...
The chaos and confliction in an adolescent mind...